


an unwelcome guest

by kuryakin



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-08
Updated: 2015-10-08
Packaged: 2018-04-25 12:19:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4960363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kuryakin/pseuds/kuryakin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>illya and napoleon's safety has been compromised by an unlikely threat, and they must rely on gaby to eliminate it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	an unwelcome guest

A glass of vodka in one hand, her favorite novel in the other. There’s a soft glow of the city lights through the white curtains that cast a small stream of light on the carpet, resembling that of moonlight. The soothing sounds of Dean Martin waft up from the cafe below their hotel. Her eyelids are heavy; her feet aching. The day had been long and grueling, but she finally had a room to herself, surrounded by plush pillows and impossibly soft sheets. She feels herself slowly succumbing to the inevitable pull of sleep… when a startling rap at her door jolts her awake.

“Lovely Gaby,” calls a deep, doting voice from behind the door.

“Could you come to my room, please?”

It’s Napoleon. Of _course_ it’s Napoleon.

She yanks back the covers and storms to the front of the room, rubbing her eyes of sleep. She abruptly opens the door, startling her visitor.

“Do you know what time it is?” she demands, clearly irritated.

The dark-haired agent shoots her one of his (in)famous smiles, dimples and all.

“I know. I’m sorry. It’ll only be a moment.”

“This better be important,” she sighs, crossing her arms and following him into the adjacent room.

“Oh, it is. You see, we have a bit of a problem. An invasion, of sorts.”

Gaby glances over to the tall, imposing Russian figure standing in the middle of the room. He looks out of place, as he always does. He doesn’t look at her. He’s frozen, his piercing eyes fixated on something in the corner of the room that Gaby can’t seem to see. A nauseating feeling nestles in the pit of her stomach.

“An invasion?” she repeats, trying to mask her concern. She fails. “What? Where? Who?”

She glances around quickly and lowers her voice, leaning in toward her partners.

“Are they here?” she whispers.

Napoleon shakes his head. He seems on edge, a stark contrast against his normal, soothing presence.

“Not quite. This intruder is more of the… eight-legged variety.”

The feeling of nausea leaves her as quickly as it came, and is immediately replaced with pure aggravation.

“If one of you doesn’t tell me what’s going on right this instant–”

Illya makes a low noise–the only form of acknowledgment he’s offered the entire time she’s been present, using his eyes to gesture towards the right side of Napoleon’s hotel room. Following his direction, she moves cautiously toward the area in question. She scans the wall, bracing herself for something horrific… when her eyes rest on a small, black spot on the wall.

She inhales sharply, entirely in astonishment.

“A spider? Are you kidding me? You called me in here, led me to believe that we were in danger, caused me to have a heart attack because of a _spider_?!”

She’s nearly yelling now, her stature more rigid than when she was convinced of a legitimate threat.

Napoleon steps back, almost offended.

“Excuse me, Miss Teller, this is a very serious matter. More serious, in fact, than a human invader. I would say this is more of a threat to our overall security than any target we’ve ever had to deal with.”

She scoffs, rolling her eyes under her thick lashes. Her voice levels.

“So kill it,” she deadpans.

“You see,” the American begins, his tone much more suave; more persuasive than before. “I’m a lover, not a fighter. I just couldn’t _bear_ to harm a creature that has done nothing to me.” He gestures toward Illya, standing to his left. “Naturally I presented the task to our Russian friend here, but he vehemently declined.”

Illya shoots a piercing glare in Napoleon’s direction.

“You wouldn’t even have to touch it, Peril!” the CIA operative continues, with no sign of easing up. “You could just tear the entire wall out, completely eradicate any danger. The Kuryakin Treatment, you could call it.”

Gaby crosses her arms impatiently and glares up at the two men towering over her.

“You’re telling me that two of the greatest spies in the world can’t take care of a simple pest?”

Napoleon lowers his eyes. Illya awkwardly rubs the back of his neck. Neither of them respond.

She lets out an exasperated sigh, stomping over to the bathroom to find a tissue of some sort, then returning to her previous location in the right corner of the large room. “You are absolutely ridiculous,” she chastises, muttering something under her breath in rapid fire German. She smashes the tissue against the wall, eliminating the threat in one swift move.

Finally at ease, Illya takes a seat in an armchair much too small for him, rubbing his temples. On the opposite end of the room, Napoleon sighs in relief and reaches for his unfinished glass of scotch. The American nods in gratitude toward the woman across from him.

“This is it,” she states, waving the tissue in his face. He flinches in disgust. “You’re going to have to learn to do this by yourself. What happens if I’m not here when this happens again?”

Napoleon shrugs. “Simple. I move. Quarantine the affected room. Burn it down, even,” he replies, matter-of-factly.

She laughs, less a sound of joy and more one of pure amazement at his proposed solution. As she leaves the room, she deftly swipes the bottle of whiskey from his hand. He begins to protest, but she holds up a tiny, firm finger to silence him. She slams the door behind her, but they can still hear her cursing in the next room.

“‘ _Work with men_ ’, they said! ' _They’ll protect you_ ’, they said! Ha!”

Illya snorts at the expense of his Western counterpart, earning a well-polished shoe to the head in retaliation.


End file.
